


Accio Spero

by zjofierose



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Crossover, Dorks in Love, Everything is fluff and nothing hurts, First Kiss, First Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Keith is a Gryffindor, Keith is a transfer student, Light Angst, M/M, Protective Shiro (Voltron), Shiro (Voltron) is a Good Friend, Shiro is a Hufflepuff, Yule Ball, but Shiro makes up for it, obligatory quidditch scenes, well keith's backstory is always keith's backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 05:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16759156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjofierose/pseuds/zjofierose
Summary: Keith is a lonely Gryffindor transfer student and Quidditch whiz. Shiro is the Hufflepuff Prefect who just wants to see him happy. Also, there's a Yule Ball coming up.





	Accio Spero

**Author's Note:**

  * For [penspunk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penspunk/gifts).



> This is a gift for penspunk/satisfied-with-my-skaters, who sweetly read their way through all of my Sheith Angst Week fics, and asked for something a little fluffier. I hope this delivers!! :D
> 
> Many, many thanks to baronvonchop, docbeeski, and packitandgo for the beta-ing on this one - I haven't read any HP in a long, long time, so this fic definitely needed all the help it could get!
> 
> Notes on HP accuracy: 
> 
> 1) Yes, I know the Yule Ball is only supposed to happen on Tri-Wizard Cup years. I decided that's silly. Everyone likes a good winter festivity.
> 
> 2) Durmstrang... falls into a canonical hole. It has a German name, but is maybe probably either in northern Scandinavia or else in the Baltics, but it was founded by a Bulgarian and seems to have a lot of Eastern European folks there, and also there's a different wizarding school that's Russian, so.... I decided they speak German. It seemed like a reasonable compromise.

Fall term’s only been in session for three weeks, but, inevitably, Shiro’s already on Saturday detention duty. He tries not to sigh as he makes his way down to the first floor room where the students will be waiting for their monitor. He doesn’t hate detention duty - it’s a good way to ensure some time to get his own work done - but he’d also rather be outside, or in the Hufflepuff common room, or practicing with his Quidditch team, or any of a hundred other things that he can’t do if he’s stuck in a room monitoring the students who’ve gotten in enough trouble during the week to warrant weekend detentions. Nonetheless, it’s the sixth year prefects who get the joy of it, and since the other three had conflicts like a Slytherin/Gryffindor Quidditch match (Lotor and Allura, respectively) or an Astronomy conference (Matt), it’s up to him to spend this remarkably beautiful September Saturday indoors. 

“Alright, everyone” he says, mustering his most convincing cheerful face as he opens the door and steps into the classroom, “books out. If we all stay on task and get our work done quietly, maybe Professor McGonagall will let us out early when she comes to check in at noon.”

The students eye him warily. A first year he recognizes from the group of newbies in Hufflepuff nods vigorously in overeager agreement, while a pair of Ravenclaw third years sigh in unison and begin rummaging in their bags for their books. The fourth person in the room, a fifth year swallowed in Gryffindor red that only makes the white of his skin look paler, folds his arms and leans back in his seat, his gaze daring Shiro to call him out. 

“No homework?” Shiro asks incredulously, searching his mind desperately for the name he’s heard attached to this particular student. 

“Already finished it.” 

“C’mon, Keith,” and gosh, Shiro  _ hopes  _ that’s the right name, “You’re a fifth year. You’ll be sitting your O.W.L.s in nine months. Surely you’ve got something to study.”

Keith just turns to look out the window, and if this is how he is in all his interactions, well, Shiro can kind of understand why he’s wound up in weekend detention so early in the term.

If there were no one else in the room, Shiro would honestly probably let it go, because there’s just something about the guy that seems vaguely sad, even if he’s doing his best to scream  _ unapproachable  _ to everyone within a twenty foot radius. But, there are three other, younger, impressionable students in the room, and they’re all watching to see what Shiro’s going to do with this blatant disregard for his authority.

“Ok,” Shiro says, getting out his bag and dumping out his books. “You transferred from Durmstrang, right?”  _ There _ , he thinks with satisfaction as Keith’s attention turns back to him, _ a hook _ . 

Keith gives the briefest of nods. 

“Great,” Shiro says, smiling with all the confidence he can muster. “You can check my translation of the German texts for my History class. I’m pretty sure I’m getting some of the colloquialisms wrong.” He digs out a scroll and walks it over to where Keith sits in the back of the room, sets it in front of him. “This is just a practice scroll, so please mark whatever you notice, and then you can explain it to me when you’re done.”

Shiro strolls back to the front of the room and turns his attention to the other students. “Books out,” he says, smiling, and there’s a sudden obedient shuffle from the rest of the group as he settles into the chair at the front and gets out his own work, “let’s get this done.”

\--

“Tell me about your new guy,” Shiro says to Allura when the four of them are sitting together the next week at dinner. “What’s his story?”

“You mean one of the first years?” She looks at him in confusion, ignoring Matt at her side as he busily debates a point of ethics with Lotor, who is clearly only going along with the conversation in order to wind him up. 

“No,” Shiro says, snagging another roll as the basket goes past, “the transfer student. Keith.”

“Oh,” Allura frowns, “him. I don’t know, to be honest. He’s a tough nut to crack.”

“He transferred from Durmstrang, right?”

“Yeah,” Allura nods in confirmation, “I didn’t know he was joining us until just a couple of days before term started. Dumbledore put him through the sorting hat privately, at his request, because he didn’t want to be a spectacle with all the first years.”

Shiro nods understandingly. Transfer students aren’t unheard of, but they’re rather rare, and since each school organizes itself differently, there’s always a certain amount of hoopla that new arrivals have to deal with as they get settled in their new life. He can sympathize with wanting to keep as much of it out of the public eye as possible. 

“Are you talking about Keith?” Matt leans in, talking with his mouth open and skillfully ignoring Lotor’s disgusted face. “He’s in Pidge’s potions class; she says he’s aces.”

Allura nods again. “He does seem very smart. And diligent, I suppose, in a strange way - his work’s always done in classes, even if I never see him studying.”

Lotor makes an interested noise. “I think Durmstrang’s ahead of us in a lot of subjects.” He picks at his teeth with the end of a knife. “From what I’ve heard, they can be pretty brutal. It’s probably pretty easy for him to do the work without studying too much.”

“Or maybe he just prefers to study in private,” Matt suggests.

“Just because Ravenclaws like ‘ _ alone time _ ’ with their books...,” Lotor starts, making a rude hand gesture, and he and Matt are off and running again.

Allura rolls her eyes. “He’s our back-up Seeker. His try-out was amazing, he’s incredibly fast on a broom. But he keeps getting in trouble with the teachers, which means he hasn’t been able to come to many practices. I don’t know if he’ll end up getting to play much, if at all.”

“He’s a Seeker?” Shiro can’t help his interest. 

“Yeah,” Allura’s face lights up, remembering. “Honestly, if he could stay out of trouble, he’d be our main seeker. You should see him fly, Shiro, it’s something else.”

“So what’s his deal with getting in trouble? Why was he giving me attitude in weekend detention three weeks into the term?”

“I don’t really know, to be honest,” Allura says, frowning again. “He and Lance fight all the time, it’s incredibly obnoxious; that’s definitely part of it. I think Lance feels like Keith’s stealing his spotlight, and so he just picks at him, and Keith’s not able to let it go. Not that I can really blame him.” She sighs in irritation. “Any class they’re in together is a trial for all concerned, I’m told. And I don’t think he really understands how to interact with the professors yet. Durmstrang values a much more aggressive and competitive atmosphere, and I think he just keeps ending up on the wrong end of everyone’s temper. Professor Sprout’s the only one I’ve seen who seems to like him, but she likes everyone.”

“She doesn’t, though,” Shiro muses, and Allura shrugs. 

“She acts like it, then. Either way, I think that’s the only class he hasn’t lost points in yet. Hey,” she says, her eyes brightening, “you’re really good with the newer students, and you’re a Seeker too. Maybe you could spend some time with him, see if you can figure out how to help him adjust.”

“Hmm,” Shiro says, turning the idea over in his mind. A green-clad elbow lands in his dessert, requiring him to turn and smack Lotor upside the head in justifiable retribution, and then any hope of further conversation is lost in favor of defending his meal.

It’s not till he’s lying in bed late that night thinking over the day that Allura’s words come back to him. He’s not sure what he can do, really, but he hates to think of Keith missing out on opportunities just because he’s having trouble settling in. It’s not much, he thinks, but as he drifts off to sleep he resolves to speak to Professor Sprout. It’s a good place to start.

\--

“Why do you want to know?” Professor Sprout asks, eyeing him suspiciously as she hands him a bucket of soil. 

“I just… he seems a little lost,” Shiro says, stowing the bucket under the workbench and reaching for a trowel. Keith’s been in every detention duty session Shiro’s had, each time without work to do, prepared to just stare silently out the window until Shiro gives him something to focus on.

“Mmm,” Professor Sprout replies, setting out a row of seedlings and gesturing to the shelf. “Get your gloves.”

Shiro complies, coming back to stand next to her, waiting for instructions. 

“These need to be repotted,” she says, gesturing to the seedlings, “but they’re sensitive. You must handle them very, very carefully, and with no excessive touching. Take as much time as you need with each one, but be careful to move them with as much delicacy as you can manage.” She pauses. “And a word of warning. They cry. Don’t let yourself be moved.”

“Yes, professor,” Shiro says, and reaches for the first pot.

“I tell you this in strict confidence, you understand,” she begins, hands working deftly to scoop out a seedling, transferring it oh-so-carefully to its new pot, even as the seedling wails the soft, heartbreaking cry of a small creature in utter distress. “There you go,” she says to it, patting down the dirt. “You’ll feel better in a minute.”

“I understand, Professor,” Shiro says, preparing the new pot in front of him with a layer of dirt, and steeling himself for the sound of his own seedling as he lifts it gently from its nest. The cries stab at his heart, but he forces himself to be delicate and deliberate as he sets it into the new soil, filling in around it until he can’t hear the sound anymore. 

“I’ve spoken with McGonagall about Keith. He has some particular challenges. I assume you know he’s a transfer student from Durmstrang?”

“Yeah,” Shiro says, readying his next pot. “Allura said she didn’t know he was coming until right before term started.”

“Yes,” Professor Sprout agrees distractedly, lifting another seedling out and cooing to it as she moves it carefully over. “And before Durmstrang, he was at Beauxbatons, and before that, he was at Ilvermorny.”

“Oh,” Shiro says in surprise, gritting his teeth at the pitiful wail coming from his second seedling as he settles it carefully into the fresh soil. “So I should be having him check my French translations too, then,” he muses, adding the extra dirt.

Professor Sprout snorts. “Probably,” she agrees, “Minerva says he’s very bright, and very driven. Just… bad with people.”

“Have his parents moved around a lot? I’ve never heard of anyone attending four schools like that. Even diplomats’ kids only attend two, or maybe three at the most.”

“He doesn’t have any,” Sprout says softly, and the soft cry of the seedling in her hands underlies the sentiment clutching at Shiro’s heart. “He was found in a Muggle orphanage when he was eleven, and brought to Ilvermorny. I don’t know all of the details, but he’s been placed with different wizarding foster families, none of which have worked out well. He was kicked out of Durmstrang over the summer when someone found out that at least one of his parents was likely a Muggle.” She shakes her head disapprovingly even as her hands deftly support the weeping seedling, transferring it to its new home. “Dumbledore agreed to take him, and now he’s here as a permanent boarder until the age of eighteen.”

“Oh,” Shiro answers, and stands still for a moment, looking at the three seedlings he’s successfully repotted. He hopes he didn’t hurt them too much; it’s impossible to tell, of course, without digging them up, which would only hurt them more. He just has to trust that Professor Sprout wouldn’t have him doing this if she didn’t believe in his abilities. He gives himself a shake, and reaches for the next pot. 

Professor Sprout tsks. “I know there’s been some rumor that he doesn’t belong in Gryffindor,” she continues, “but Minerva assures me that’s not the case. He’s clever and brave as much as any of the rest of them, and loyal to a fault, just… not to any of us.”

“Allura said he and Lance fight a lot,” Shiro comments, “and that he’s a Seeker, but hasn’t been able to play much because he keeps ending up in detention.”

Professor Sprout nods. “I saw him practicing with them once; incredible raw skill, but no discipline. He’s got a lot of potential, but no direction. I know Minerva’s working on it, but…” she pauses, settling her last seedling into its pot and patting down the dirt, then turning to watch as Shiro finishes preparing his last pot and carefully cradles his last seedling in his big hands, trying to simultaneously comfort and not overwhelm it. He can feel the weight of her gaze on him as she hums thoughtfully before continuing. “Shiro, I think he needs a friend.”

\--

“Come on,” Shiro says, glancing around the first floor classroom. The rain is bucketing down outside, and the room is drafty with it, the windows thick with condensation. 

“Where are we going?” Keith asks, picking up his bag and huddling deeper into his red scarf. It’s lucky that it’s only Keith assigned to Shiro’s detention session this morning, or Shiro would never be able to do this, but… he’s been thinking about Keith, thinking about what it must be like to transfer through four schools and end up in a country you’ve never lived in, shoved into a house with the loudest and most competitive of your peers. 

“You’ll see,” Shiro says, and smiles, waiting for Keith to catch up. They hustle through the corridors toward the kitchen, and, looking around once, Shiro knocks on the correct barrel to open the door to the Hufflepuff common room. 

“Whoa,” Keith says, pausing in the doorway. Shiro smiles and turns back, holding out a hand. Keith’s face is awestruck, the firelight playing on the sharp angles of his cheekbones and jaw, lending a warmth to Keith’s complexion that Shiro’s never seen before. “Are you sure I’m allowed to be here?”

“Come on,” Shiro says again, beckoning Keith forward. “Everyone else is out at the Quidditch match. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna let you do anything fun,” he says dryly, and Keith punches out a surprised laugh, stepping forward into the room proper. “But there’s no reason we have to be trapped in the dampest, draftiest room in the castle just to do homework.”

It’s a gamble; he hasn’t technically asked permission for this, but he’s counting on the fact that McGonagall and Sprout are both invested in helping Keith acclimate and also that literally everyone else really is at the Quidditch match, watching Allura and Lotor face each other down for only the second time this semester. Gryffindor/Slytherin matches have been getting better every year, and even with the pouring rain, no one who doesn’t have to would want to miss it.

Keith’s eyes are wide, taking in the round windows onto the grounds and the series of comfy chairs, the plants hanging from the rafters and the copper suncatchers angled to brighten the room even on the dreariest of days.

“Sit anywhere,” Shiro says, taking his own favorite overstuffed armchair by the fire and settling in. “Let me guess, homework already done?”

Keith finally tears his eyes away from examining the room long enough to plunk himself down on a cushion directly in front of the fire, and it makes a small warmth grow in Shiro’s chest to see that Keith can and will seek out comfort when presented with it. He’s not an aesthete after all, just someone used to ignoring their own deprivation, and Shiro makes a silent vow to make sure that Keith unlearns that particular hardness.

“Let’s get this over with,” Keith says, rolling his eyes, but with the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Give me your German homework.”

Shiro laughs, and reaches for the appropriate scroll. The rain intensifies outside, falling in rattling sheets of cold and wet, but the firelight is casting flame-tinted shadows on Keith’s hair and Shiro can feel a flush rising in his own cheeks.

“I think it’s better this time,” he says, handing it over along with a plate of cinnamon rolls that had been resting on the end table next to him. “See what you think.”

Keith just holds out his hand.

\--

In October, Allura and Matt both fall prey to the flu that’s cursing the castle and Lotor’s away at a week-long Applied Alchemy workshop, which leaves Shiro as the only Prefect of sufficient age to supervise detention, and is how he finds himself collecting his work and heading to the first floor every evening for a week. 

Keith is there every night. 

“Come  _ on _ ,” Shiro groans on Friday when he walks in to see Keith in his usual back row seat. “Honestly, Keith, why are you here?”

It’s the wrong thing to say, and he knows it even as it leaves his mouth, but it’s been a long week and he’s starting to feel a little flu-ey himself, pushing aside the ache in his sinuses to pull out his homework and drop it on the desk at the front of the room.

“Well, it’s sure not for the company,” Keith sniffs, and kicks his feet up on his desk in a show of insolence.

Shiro’s immediately grateful that no other students are around, because he is not equipped to handle this today, not in public.

“What,” he says, “and here I thought my German had been getting better.”

“Your German is an affront to drunk Oktoberfest revelers everywhere,” Keith answers, but drops his feet to the floor, and at least he’s talking, Shiro thinks. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean that Shiro has any more energy to deal with him than he did when he walked in. 

“Look,” he says, walking over and dropping to his knees in front of Keith and resting his folded arms on the desk between them so they’re eye to eye. “This is ridiculous. Stop,” he says, as Keith opens his mouth to argue, “I  _ know  _ you’re better than this. I want you to prove it.” He holds up a finger. “There’s a Hogsmeade weekend coming up.” Keith folds his arms and looks away. “I know that your Hogsmeade privileges have been suspended. If you get through a week with no detentions, I’ll talk to McGonagall myself about you going.”

Keith turns to stare at him, eyes wide, and Shiro tries not to think too hard about how good it makes him feel to the focus of all that determined attention. He also tries not to think about what it means that Keith seems this shocked that anyone, ever, would go out on a limb for him, even one as minor as speaking to a professor on his behalf.

“Why?” Keith says after a long moment, his voice soft and raspy. “Why would you do that for me?”

Maybe it’s the fever talking, but Shiro’s never been good at dissembling anyway.

“Because I want to see you happy,” he says, and then when Keith goes completely still and silent, realizes he may have crossed a line, and immediately starts to stand, hoping to back away quickly and preserve his dignity. He gets halfway up before Keith’s eyes go wide again, but this time in something like alarm, and the last thing Shiro hears is his name as the darkness comes up to swallow him.

\--

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone move so fast, let alone someone carrying your monster carcass,” Matt says fondly. “I still have no idea how he managed to get you up the stairs to the infirmary.”

Shiro flushes hard where he lies in his bed next to a pile of used tissues. “I don’t believe you,” he says quietly.

“Oh, believe it. And there was no magic involved; his wand was back in the classroom with all your books. Dude is just like, freakishly strong. Maybe it’s a Durmstrang thing?”

“Maybe,” Shiro says in the hopes of putting the topic to rest. “Did one of you go get my books for me? I’m probably well enough I should start catching up on homework,” he sighs.

“No, but Keith brought them.”

“He  _ what _ ?” Shiro looks at Matt in horror. “He’s been here?”

“Oh, Shiro,” Matt chortles, “you better be careful. I think you’ve picked up a stray.” He gives Black a cursory pet as she nudges imperiously at his hand from her position next to Shiro’s knees. “Yeah, dude, he was here twice, first to deliver your books while you were still in the infirmary, and then to check on you after you got back.”

“ _ Ugh _ ,” Shiro says with feeling, and covers his face with his hands.

“Aw, come on, buddy. It’s not that big a deal. Everyone gets sick. At least you didn’t yack all over him or something like Allura did with Romelle second year.” Matt pats his arm. “Why are you stressed about this?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Shiro says, trying to be grateful for small mercies. Allura had avoided Romelle for a year, he reminds himself, digging his fingers into Black’s fur to feel her reassuring rumble of a purr. “I don’t know? Just embarrassing, I guess.”

It’s true, he thinks. He’s not entirely sure why the idea of himself swooning unconscious into Keith’s arms, or lying asleep while Keith checks on him makes him feel all discombobulated. He likes Keith well enough, but they’re not what he’d call friends, not really. Not yet, anyway.

“He hasn’t been in detention this week,” Matt says casually, and Shiro freezes. “I wonder what changed? Allura says McGonagall’s thrilled- for once, it’s only Lance losing points for Gryffindor.” 

“Not at all?” Shiro gets out before he succumbs to a coughing fit.

Matt shrugs. “Not that I’ve seen. If he could have just decided not to do it earlier, I don’t know why he didn’t. I guess he just must’ve finally found the proper motivation, whatever that is.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says faintly, “I guess so.”

“You ok?” Matt frowns at him. “You’re looking kinda peaky again.” He pats Shiro’s leg. “I’m gonna head on out, you get some rest and feel better soon, ok?”

“Thanks, Matt,” Shiro says, mustering a weak smile for his friend. “I appreciate it.”

Matt flaps a hand dismissively at him from the doorway, and lets the wooden door close solidly behind him. Shiro barely hears it, his mind caught on the color of fall leaves, of ripe fruit, of banked embers.

\--

Shiro’s finishing his homework in the Hufflepuff common room the following Friday evening, close to the door and ignoring the rest of his house as they goof off by the fire or play games in the corners. 

“Hey,” he hears a voice say, and turns to look. “This makes  _ two  _ weeks,” Keith states, his eyes dark and intense, and Shiro gapes at him wordlessly until his head disappears from the doorway as mysteriously as it had appeared. It doesn’t occur to him until minutes later to wonder how the hell Keith even got into the basement.

\--

Saturday morning dawns crisp and clear, and finds Shiro standing in front of McGonagall’s fire in her private apartments. She’s dressed in a wrapper and a shawl, but is no less intimidating than she is in full robes and hat.

“So, you are asking me to revoke a decision made weeks ago as a suitable punishment for misbehavior because  _ you  _ said  _ you  _ could get it reversed?”

“No, Professor,” Shiro says, holding himself ramrod straight and trying to ignore the creeping fear in the back of his mind that he may fail. “I would like you to please revoke it, conditionally, in recognition of progress made.”

“Two weeks without detention is not an achievement, Mr. Shirogane. It is an expectation. The very expectation, in fact, that we make of all of our students every term. There is nothing special in having succeeded at meeting the most basic of expectations.”

“Normal behavior for normal students results in normal privileges,” Shiro counters, “including, for fifth years, the privilege of visiting Hogsmeade. And,” he continues, meeting her eyes, “in this case, it is special. A nod of recognition from the head of his house could go a long way, Professor, if you don’t mind my saying so. A vote of confidence.”

“Telling me how to run my house, now, Shiro? Perhaps you should have been a Gryffindor; you’ve got the backbone for it.”

“I apologize if I’m out of line…” Shiro begins, but McGonagall holds up a hand to cut him off.

“I’m tempted to turn you down simply because you promised him a concession which was not yours to give, and without receiving prior consent,” she says, and Shiro feels his heart drop. “But that would be short-sighted of me. You may inform Mr. Kogane that he is allowed to visit Hogsmeade today, and will be permitted to return in the future, assuming his good behavior continues. However,” she points a finger at Shiro, “he is your responsibility. Take good care.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Shiro says, already backing out of the room, “I appreciate your generosity. I’ll keep a good eye on him.”

“See that you do,” McGonagall says as he edges through the door, and escapes into the hallway. He pauses outside the door to catch his breath, leaning against the wall and beginning to smile. 

Now he just has to find Keith.

\--

“I’ve never been somewhere like this,” Keith says, his tone neutral but his eyes round with wonder as they walk down the High Street. His cheeks are pink with the chill, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. 

“Somewhere like what?” Shiro asks, trying to see the village with new eyes. It’s hard; he’s used to Hogsmeade after years of coming here, and it holds no particular charm for him at this point beyond being somewhere that’s not school.

Keith purses his lips, clearly trying to think of how to explain what’s on his mind. “It’s nothing like what we have at home, how it looks,” he starts, and Shiro nods. 

“You mean America?” 

“Yeah,” Keith laughs ruefully. “I grew up in the desert. It doesn’t…” he gestures vaguely at the cluster of pointing stone chimneys and hunching timbered houses in front of them. “It doesn’t look anything like this. Everything’s low and flat, reds and browns. Not pointy. Green.”

“The desert?” Shiro asks curiously, steering them to the Three Broomsticks. It’s hard for him to remember that Keith’s American in the first place, since Shiro first knew of him as a student who transferred from Durmstrang. Keith’s accent is a melange, fitting closely to the speech patterns of his conversational partner of the moment, only shifting when he’s remembering a particular event or place. 

Shiro opens the door to the pub and ushers Keith in ahead of him, pulling the door behind them to keep the chilly air outside. “Here, you grab a table and I’ll grab us some butterbeers,” he says, gesturing toward the bar.

A quick look of panic scuttles across Keith’s face, and Shiro’s thrown for a second, running what he’s said through his mind, trying to figure out what he’s done wrong. 

“I don’t have any…” Keith starts, and the penny drops. Shiro smiles easily, and waves him off.

“My treat,” he says with a smile, “to welcome you to Hogsmeade properly,” he adds as Keith starts to protest, turning and heading to the bar without waiting for further debate. He can almost feel Keith pulling a face behind him, and wants to laugh at the thought. 

“Two butterbeers, please,” he says, setting his money down on the bar and smiling at Rosmerta. 

“Pretty boy you’ve got with you,” she comments appreciatively, tipping her head at where Keith has settled pensively into a window seat. “First date?”

“No,” Shiro says, feeling his cheeks flush with sudden warmth at the suggestion. God, is that what they look like? He hadn’t even thought of it, but he can see how she’d get that idea. “Just a friend. He’s new to the school.”

“Uh huh,” Rosmerta says, clearly unconvinced. “Good of you to show him around,” she adds with a wink, passing over two foaming tankards. 

Shiro just smiles, because there’s nothing he can say that won’t just sound like he’s protesting too much. He takes the tankards with a muttered thanks, and heads back toward Keith.

Is this where he would take someone on a first date, he wonders idly, is this where he would take  _ Keith  _ on a first date? It’s a possibility, he admits to himself - an excursion with food, drink, a bit of privacy but nothing uncomfortable. He’d be far from the first student or townsperson to pick a corner table with a warm beverage in order to ply his hopes. 

Keith looks up at him and gives a hesitant smile as Shiro settles his drink in front of him, and Shiro forces himself to banish the thought. He’s here as Keith’s friend, and even that much is still new. Best to stick with the here and now.

“Ever tried butterbeer?” Shiro asks, pushing one of the drinks toward him. Keith looks adorably suspicious, and Shiro bites his lip not to laugh.

Keith shakes his head dubiously, eyeing the foaming tankard in front of him. “What’s it like?” 

“Mostly it’s like butterscotch?” Shiro answers, “or maybe cream soda.” He takes a long draught of his own drink, exhaling in pleasure as the sweetness hits his tongue. “It’s good.”

“Clearly,” Keith says drily, the corner of his mouth twitching, but he obediently lifts his cup. Shiro wishes he had a camera, because the face that Keith makes at the taste is one he’ll treasure forever. 

“Jesus Christ,” Keith says with feeling, “that’s  _ sweet _ .” 

“Do you like it?” Shiro genuinely can’t divine anything from Keith’s expression other than surprise, and finds himself maybe a little too invested in Keith’s enjoyment of this thing that’s so much a part of Shiro’s Hogwarts experience. 

“Yeah,” Keith says thoughtfully, taking another drink, scrunching up his eyebrows as he contemplates the taste, “yeah, it’s nice. Just not quite what I expected.”

“What did you expect?” Shiro asks curiously, reaching out to gesture at Keith’s cheek. “You’ve got a little foam, just…” he points.

Keith scrubs at his face with the end of his scarf, and it should be gross instead of endearing, but here they are, Shiro thinks resignedly. He’s not entirely sure, in retrospect, at what point Keith went from being an annoying enigma to a going concern to someone he really thinks is cute, but apparently he has. He’s tempted to chalk it up to the power of Rosmerta’s suggestion, but when he thinks of Keith bent in concentration over his homework, of Keith bringing his books when he was sick, Keith reaching idly to pet Black as she settles next to him in the Hufflepuff common room, it feels a little dishonest to blame someone else.

“Did I get it?” Keith asks, and Shiro just nods, trying not to stare at the way Keith’s skin glows in the low light. “I mean, it has  _ beer  _ in the name, I guess I expected like… sweet beer.” He takes another sip, licking his lips to chase the flavor, and Shiro buries his flaming face in his own drink. This has all the makings of a very long day.

\--

“Tell me about Durmstrang,” he says to Keith later as they wander slowly down the street. There’s a nip in the air, and Keith’s not complaining, but Shiro notices he’s staying close, using Shiro’s bulk as a wind-block. 

“Not much to tell,” Keith shrugs, “Cold. Big. Lots of root vegetables.” 

Shiro snorts out a laugh. “How long were you there?”

“Two and a half years,” Keith answers. “My German’s better than my French.”

“That’s a long time in the cold for someone who grew up in the desert,” he says, and instantly regrets it as Keith gets a faraway look in his eyes. 

“Honestly, it was more like the desert than Beauxbatons was,” he answers quietly. “Still wet and cold, obviously, but there was something in the austerity…”

“You didn’t like France?”

Keith frowns. “I didn’t dislike it, but it was… too different. I never fit in. They’re very…” he waves a hand in frustration. “They’re all very nice, and correct, and beautiful, and I’m....” he gestures at himself wryly, “well, you’ve met me.”

_ I think you’re beautiful _ , Shiro thinks, but bites his tongue. He can believe that Keith wouldn’t actually fit in well with the easy social airs and graces of the Beauxbaton crowd, and can also imagine how alienating it would feel to a new student coming to a new country, alone and unexpected.

“I did learn to dance, though,” Keith says with a smirk, and Shiro can feel his mouth fall open at the thought. “Here,” he takes Shiro by the hand with a mischievous look, and before Shiro can respond, he finds himself spun around and dipped halfway to the street. 

Shiro gapes like a fish, and Keith does him the kindness of pulling him back upright before he cracks up at the expression on Shiro’s face. 

“Well, you definitely didn’t learn that at Durmstrang,” Shiro comments, tugging at his shirt in a futile effort to save face. Keith is still laughing, but Shiro is trying to make his brain unstick from the fact that Keith is strong enough to heave him around like a child. He does the math instead, counting backwards. “You were at Beauxbatons for...”

“Six months until they decided it ‘wasn’t a good placement’ for me,” Keith answers, the mirth falling from his face. “And a year at Ilvermorny before that.”

“And now here,” Shiro says with a smile, elbowing him gently in an attempt to lighten the mood. 

“Till I graduate or get kicked out,” Keith agrees easily with a shrug, hands back in his pockets, “whichever comes first.”

The fatalism of it makes Shiro’s heart hurt, and he thinks of Madame Sprout’s worried face, McGonagall’s willingness to bend the rules in an effort to save this boy. 

“C’mon,” he says cheerfully, settling his hand on Keith’s shoulder and pointing him at the steps into Honeydukes. “Let’s go get enough candy to make ourselves sick.”

Keith laughs in surprise, the weak afternoon sun casting his face into a study in sharp shadows, shaking his head in mock dismay as they step through the doorway.

\--

They exit an hour later, each of them carrying a sack of candy the size of a bludger. Shiro’s fingers are sticky and smell like oranges, and he thinks there’s still a jelly bean somewhere down his shirt. Night is falling fast, the street lamps of the village glowing softly in the low light. 

“We should get back,” Shiro says, and Keith nods, suppressing a shiver in the cool air. “Here,” he says, shrugging out of his coat and wrapping it around Keith’s shoulders, “you’re cold.”

“Shiro, I can’t…” Keith starts, beginning to lift the coat off and hand it back, but Shiro shakes his head and does up the top button so that it hangs like a cape around Keith’s smaller frame. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says with a smile, “I’ve got a sweater and you’re just in your shirtsleeves. Besides,” he adds with a hand to Keith’s shoulder, schooling his face into mock seriousness, “I promised McGonagall I’d look out for you. So I’m just doing my duty.”

Keith rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t try to give back the coat again. The twilight only serves to highlight the unusual color of his huge, dark eyes, and the picture of him in Shiro’s jacket makes Shiro’s heart do a flip that has nothing to do with the amount of sugar he’s just ingested.

“Whatever, old man,” Keith says, and turns back to the castle, moving slowly until Shiro catches up, matching their steps together as they head up the path toward the lights at the crest of the hill.

\--

“Hey,” Allura says one day late in the month, “thanks for making time to spend with Keith. I think it’s really made a difference.”

“Oh?” Shiro looks up from where he’s working through his Arithmancy homework. “Does it seem like he’s doing better?”

“He and Lance still fight, but they’ve mostly stopped doing it in class, so that’s something. And I saw you with him at Hogsmeade.” She smiles, and Shiro ducks his head in the hopes that she won’t notice the flush that memory brings to his cheeks. “It was very kind of you to get him permission to go.”

“He earned it,” Shiro shrugs, “I just talked to McGonagall.”

Allura rolls her eyes. “ _ Just _ talked to McGonagall.” 

“She’s not that scary,” Shiro points out, “and she’s  _ your  _ head of house. You shouldn’t be so intimidated by her.”

"Nonsense,” Allura scoffs, “that’s exactly  _ why  _ I should be so intimidated.”

Shiro just shrugs and turns back to his scroll, chewing the end of his quill in thought. 

“Listen,” Allura says after a moment, and Shiro hmms for her to continue. “I was thinking. Keith’s still benched on account of the number of practices he missed because of his detentions, but I’d like him to stay in shape for when he’s able to play.”

“I don’t know…”

“I know you practice on your own in the mornings sometimes,” Allura presses, “maybe you could invite him along? Just let him go through your drills with you?”

Shiro rubs his forehead. He’s busy, and since Keith’s been staying out of detention, he hasn’t seen that much of him. They greet each other in the halls, and Shiro always makes sure to smile at him when they’re at dinner. They’ve sat together in the library once when they both happened to be there at the same time, but Shiro hasn’t tried to seek him out, and Keith hasn’t come to find Shiro either. Honestly, since Hogsmeade, Shiro’s been trying not to think about Keith too much, because he knows the signs of an obsessively terrible crush in the making when he sees them in himself, and he’d rather not lose time pining over someone he’s supposed to be helping. Unrequited love has never been his thing, and he doesn’t want to pressure a new friendship with feelings no one asked for. 

“Shiro, he’s been moping since Hogsmeade,” Allura says finally, and Shiro brings his head up in surprise. “He’s not getting in trouble, but… I think he’s lonely. I know you’re busy and it’s a big ask, but… if you could.”

Shiro put his head down on the desk. He can picture it all too well, Keith silently staring out the window, and it hurts. 

“Yeah,” he says quietly, and against his better judgment. “Okay.”

\--

“Did you fly at Durmstrang?” Shiro asks, adjusting his training gear. It’s chilly out, the grass wet with dew and the sun low in the sky even though it’s nearly eight in the morning.

“Yeah,” Keith says, “second string, though. Their Seeker’s a seventh year, and really good.” He pulls a Gryffindor red-and-gold hat down over his ears, making his black hair stick out from under it like a smashed bush. 

“Allura says  _ you’re  _ really good,” Shiro muses, checking his broom over for any scuffs or flaws. Keith’s broom is clearly a hand-me-down, and he leans on it nonchalantly in a way that offends Shiro’s sensibilities. 

Keith just shrugs. “I didn’t even learn what Quidditch was till I started at Ilvermorny and had a roommate who was really into it. Didn’t learn to fly till Durmstrang. I guess I do okay for being pretty new at it still.”

Shiro turns to look at him. It’s far too early for most of the student body to be up and about on a Saturday, and they’ve got the Quidditch field to themselves for the moment. Keith looks tired, and Shiro’s pretty sure he’s not a morning person, but he’d agreed immediately when Shiro’d asked if he wanted to join him for his drills. It makes Shiro worry a little, how easily Keith agrees to his company, makes him wonder how used Keith might be to being lonely that he’ll say yes to anyone who offers their time.

“Did you know anything about the magical world at all before you got your letter?” he asks gently. He remembers Professor Sprout mentioning that Keith was found in a Muggle orphanage, that it’s likely at least one of his parents was a Muggle, but there are plenty of mixed marriages. It doesn’t necessarily mean that Keith hadn’t known at least one magical parent, only that they hadn’t been able to make arrangements for him to be raised by magical friends or family.

Keith shakes his head, picking at a stray twig in the end of his broom. “No. My dad was a Muggle, I’m pretty sure. My mom… she left when I was a baby, so I don’t know. But Pop died when I was eight, and I ended up in the home, and just stayed there until someone turned up with a letter for me the summer I was eleven.” He kicks a leg over his broom and holds, meeting Shiro’s eyes with a bored look. He’s clearly done discussing his past, and Shiro can respect that. “So, what do you do?”

“First,” Shiro says, straddling his broom and kicking up, “just some warm-up laps. Then an obstacle course through the hoops and around them, different patterns, that sort of thing.” He looks over at Keith, whose broom hardly looks like it can support even his slight weight, but Shiro’s already learned not to take Keith at face value. “We could do some racing, since there’s two of us. And then, at the end, I like to chase a snitch.” 

A slow smile blooms across Keith’s face, and Shiro can feel the heat in his cheeks rise in response. 

“Let’s go, then,” Keith says, and takes off into the morning light. Shiro gives a whoop and follows him.

\--

Keith is every bit as fast and good as promised, and Shiro has to work to keep up with him. It is a delight, one that Shiro hasn’t felt in years, to be challenged like this, to have someone he has to chase instead of being chased himself. The speed Keith gets on his dilapidated broom is nigh unbelievable, and he is utterly fearless as he flings himself at breakneck speeds around the hoops and through the obstacles. The only drop Shiro can get on him is through sheer experience, and he pulls out every trick in his book to win their race and finish the obstacle course first. 

At the end of it they land, steam rising from their clothes in the frigid morning air. Keith is laughing freely, and Shiro hauls him in for an exuberant hug, feeling Keith go first rigid in his arms, then melt into the touch like Hunk’s fat yellow cat getting its belly rubbed. 

“Keith,” Shiro says, rubbing a hand fondly up and down his back, “you’re  _ incredible _ . I’ve never seen anyone so good with so little experience. We’ve got to get you fully on the team- you’re going to break every record set at Hogwarts!”

“Aren’t most of those yours?” Keith asks, his face still flushed and grinning, but a hint of nervousness flickering in the back of his eyes. His arms are still clumsily wrapped around Shiro’s waist, and Shiro hangs on to Keith’s shoulders as he laughs.

“Yeah, they are.” He beams. “And you’re gonna break them all. I’m gonna watch you, and it’s going to be amazing.  _ You’re  _ going to be amazing.”

Keith shakes his head, but the fear in his eyes has gone and his grin is as wide as Shiro’s ever seen it. 

“You’re ridiculous, old man,” he says, and Shiro claps him on the back with glee.

“Let’s go again,” he says, letting go of Keith to grab his broom, launching into the air without waiting to see if Keith is behind him. He already knows he is.

\--

October ends in the dark and wet and cold, and November rises in a mess of sneezing and term papers. After a few weeks of unofficial Quidditch sessions that leave them both exhausted and exhilarated in equal measure, the terrible weather drives Keith and Shiro inside and the amount of Shiro’s homework drives him to ground. It picks up for everyone, to the point that he even catches Keith with his nose in a book for once, but Shiro’s basically to the point of surfacing only to eat and bathe and go to class, and some days he’s only accomplishing any two of those. 

He barely sees Keith, and it hurts. He misses his friend, misses the time they spent together, but it’s hardly anything personal- he doesn’t see anyone outside of class really, not at this time of the semester, and he and Keith don’t overlap in their schedules. He catches glimpses of Allura and Lotor and Matt at meals, on the days they emerge from their book stacks to eat. He sees Hunk in passing in the Hufflepuff common room when he puts out the results of his latest stress baking. He catches glimpses of Keith sometimes at the Gryffindor table, sitting quietly at the end as he eats; they spent one whole afternoon together in the library, and Shiro treasured it for the rest of the week. 

It’s a bit of a shock to his system when he shows up to supervise Wednesday night detention in the late November and looks up from the stack of books he’s just dropped on the desk to see a familiar red-clad figure occupying the corner desk. Their eyes lock, and Keith looks away, his mouth tightening, but the room is full of other students busily scribbling into their notes, so Shiro doesn’t say a word.

Keith’s not there on Friday when Shiro covers detention duty for Allura, but he’s back again the following Monday when Shiro has his regularly scheduled detention night, camped out in the corner with his heels on the desk. He at least has a book in hand, so Shiro leaves him alone and attempts to answer questions from some of the younger students as they work through assignments. Keith leaves without a word, sliding out with the rest of them as soon as their time is up.

A little dinner-time reconnaissance with the other prefects reveals that Keith is not, in fact, showing up in everyone’s detentions, and red flags go up for Shiro.

“No,” Matt says, “I haven’t seen him in at least a month,” and Lotor shakes his head in agreement.

Allura just frowns. “I hadn’t even heard that he’d gotten in trouble again,” she says pensively, “I know McGonagall’s been very happy with his progress so far. And he’s…” she pauses, a funny look crossing her face, “Shiro, he’s only showing up in  _ your  _ scheduled detentions?”

“Yes.” Shiro drags a hand across his face. “I’ll talk to him.”

\--

“Hey,” he calls out the following Friday night as Keith starts to slip out the door, “Keith, wait!” 

Keith’s head tips at the sound of Shiro’s voice, but he keeps walking, shoving his hands into his pockets and shifting the weight of his satchel on his shoulder.

“Please,” Shiro asks, hurriedly piling his things into his bag and watching to make sure the last of the students gather up all their belongings. 

That makes Keith pause, even if he doesn’t look at Shiro. He stands quietly by the door until the last of the younger students is out and Shiro turns up beside him. 

Shiro exhales, then takes Keith carefully by the elbow, feeling the tension that’s thrumming through Keith’s body, hunching his shoulders and tightening his arm. “Come on,” Shiro says, and starts walking.

\--

The top of the Astronomy tower is more than a little cold, but it’s also deserted, so Shiro settles onto a bench near the edge and pats the spot next to him. Keith sits, but still isn’t meeting Shiro’s eyes. He tips his head back instead, staring up at the myriad of stars, and Shiro catches his breath at the sight of him. 

“Hey,” he says finally, keeping his voice quiet and calm, “why are you back in detention?”

Keith shrugs, but it’s a small, defeated thing. 

“Got in trouble.”

Shiro makes a speculative noise. “Got in trouble specifically only on the days when I have detention duty?” 

There’s no answer, only a guilty shifting on the bench beside him. Shiro sighs, and fishes in his bag until he finds his hat, pulling it out and shoving it unapologetically on Keith’s head. He knows how Keith’s ears burn in the cold.

Keith brings a hand up to rub at the golden yarn, gone silver in the starlight. His voice when he speaks is quiet, and rougher than Shiro’s ever heard it.

“I don’t get to see you anymore.”

_ There it is _ , Shiro thinks, and he reaches out without hesitation to wrap an arm around the boy at his side, pulling him in close..

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around,” he says, and feels Keith stiffen next to him.  _ Waiting to be given an insincere excuse _ , he thinks. “I’ve missed you, too,” Shiro says instead. 

Keith relaxes by incremental degrees under his arm as the silence stretches between them. Shiro’s not sure if it’s his presence or his body heat, but he’s okay with either option so long as Keith is feeling more comfortable.

“You know you can always just come find me, right?” Shiro asks quietly after a while, “anyone would let you into the Hufflepuff dorms, or you can come sit with us at meals.”

“When you show up for them,” Keith scoffs, and Shiro has to admit he has a point. 

“Well, then, if you really want, you can come sit in detention for old time’s sake,” he says, then knocks his knee into the one next to his. “But you can do it without actually getting in trouble, you know.”

“...oh,” Keith says, and Shiro would laugh if it weren’t as tragic as it is funny. The weight of it hits him then, that Keith’s first resort to get someone to spend time with him is both to sabotage his own success without a second thought and also to show up where they won’t be able to just walk away from him. He tightens his arm around the slender body beside him.

“No more getting in trouble, okay?” he says, “I still need to see you play for Gryffindor, and McGonagall will never let you do that if she hears you’re getting detentions again.”

Keith is silent for a long moment. “Promise you’ll still see me sometimes?”

“Of course,” Shiro says earnestly, “of  _ course  _ I will. I want to see you, too. And it won’t stay this busy forever, even if it feels that way right now.” He turns to face Keith on the bench, tugging at the hat to make sure it covers enough of Keith’s head to keep him warm. “I’m never going to give up on you. And I promise I’ll do a better job of making time for you,” he says, holding Keith’s gaze, “and I’m sorry I didn’t before.”

Keith’s smile is small, but steady.

“Okay,” he says, and nods hesitantly. Shiro’s heart aches in his chest. “Okay.”

\--

“Matt,” Shiro groans, burying his head in his hands, “I don’t know what to do.”

The thunk on the top of his head is comparatively light, which Shiro does appreciate. Matt’s not always that circumspect when he’s hitting people with books.

“Yes, you do, ninny. You walk up to him, and you say, ‘Keith, I think you’re the prettiest boy in the whole school, will you go to the Yule Ball with me’.”

“But what if he says no?” Shiro whines from his position face-down on the table. “What if I just go to the ball on my own, and then we can hang out? That seems safer.”

“You could do that,” Matt agrees breezily, “but what if someone else asks him? He is, after all, The Prettiest.”

Shiro can’t even find it within himself to debate that, so he just groans into his textbook instead.

“He’s not going to say no, idiot.” The eyeroll is as obvious in Matt’s tone as it must be on his face. “He thinks you hung the moon in the sky. He thinks the stars have nothing on your eyes. He thinks the sun shines out of your…”

“I get it, Matt,” Shiro says testily, sitting and rubbing his hands through his hair. “I just… I’m nervous. I don’t want to mess this up.”

“I know, buddy.” Matt claps him on the shoulder. “But trust me- this’ll be fine.”

\--

Shiro thinks of a hundred ways to do it, and spends a miserable three weeks contemplating the pros and cons of every possible option. He could ask Matt or Pidge for help with making an elaborate spell that would ask Keith to the ball for him, preferably one with hearts and flowers. He could have Allura coach him with his German until he can ask Keith in the language that first had Keith talking to him. He could ask Lotor to let him use Lotor’s beautiful owl to deliver a series of romantic notes, culminating in an invitation. He could get Hunk to help him bake cookies in letter shapes that would spell out his question, and leave it where Keith could find (and eat) it.

They’re all terrible ideas, and he knows it. Meanwhile, he’s surrounded by giggling couples and gaggles of gossiping friends, flowers or scrolls or chocolates in hand, blushes high on their cheeks as they sneak glances at the lucky invitee. Or, alternatively, there are the heartbroken rejectees, who slink off to the grounds or the library or the washrooms, embarrassed at best and hysterically sobbing at worst. As confident as Shiro is that Keith would at the very least let him down gently, he can all too easily see himself numbered among their midst, hapless and ashamed, and all because he presumed more from a friendship than was there. 

The worst thought of all, the one that really does keep him up at night, is the fear that Keith will say yes, not because he wants to, not because he likes Shiro, but because he doesn’t know how to say no. That Keith will agree because he doesn’t want to alienate his only friend, because he fears disappointing Shiro. 

The stress of it all, combined with the inevitable ramping up of the pre-exams work and study load, has Shiro so out of it that Keith’s quiet question when they’re studying one night by the Hufflepuff fire doesn’t register for at least a solid minute. 

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says finally, raising his head from his homework, “what did you….”

“I said,” Keith answers, rolling his eyes in amusement even as he wrings his hands together with nerves, “would you go to the Yule Ball with me?” His eyes are huge and dark, his face calm, but his fingers are still twisting in the threadbare front of his robes. 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Shiro says emphatically, and Keith’s smile is blinding. “Yes, I’d love to,” Shiro adds, just in case he wasn’t clear enough, dragging a hand through the mess of his hair and leaning back in his seat to laugh. 

“What’s so funny,” Keith asks, narrowing his eyes at Shiro, who drags himself back upright to smile at Keith with every ounce of the relief and delight coursing through his body. 

“You beat me to the punch,” he says, and can’t help but grin as Keith’s cheeks go pink with surprise and pleasure. “I hadn’t figured out how to ask you yet, but I was going to.”

“Sorry,” Keith says, ducking his head in a rare display of shyness, “didn’t mean to steal your thunder.”

“Don’t be,” Shiro says earnestly, reaching across the table to take Keith’s hand in his. It’s smaller, but strong, callused across the palm and fingers from his broom and chilly at the fingertips. Shiro wraps it in his own warm grip and waits for Keith’s gaze to return to his. “I’m so glad you asked. And I’m really looking forward to going with you.”

The flush on Keith’s cheeks gets darker, but he doesn’t look away. Shiro feels mesmerized, rooted to the spot by the touch of Keith’s fingers against his own, feels like he’s drowning in Keith’s deep stare. He’s not sure how long it lasts, but they break away finally as a gaggle of Shiro’s fellow Hufflepuffs come tumbling through the door into the common room, reclaiming their hands and returning their attention to their homework.

Shiro rereads the same page for an hour until Keith excuses himself for the night, and retains exactly none of the information on it.

\--

The evening of the ball draws near, and Shiro feels like he’s barely seen Keith at all in weeks, even with their now semi-regular study sessions. Between classes, exams, and Quidditch matches, it feels like they’re ships passing in the night, and while the stress of trying to figure out how to ask Keith to go with him has passed, it’s been hard not spending more time together. Shiro misses him, rather more than he thinks is appropriate given the length of time they’ve known each other, but he chalks it up to the fact that nothing about Keith seems to conform to any “normal” standard and moves on.

The day of the ball arrives, and Shiro gets ready too early, adjusting his cloud-grey dress robes in the mirror for the umpteenth time, settling the pearl-buttoned cuffs around his wrists and finger-combing his dark hair into the same shape it always takes. His shoes are shined, his face is shaved, his robes are pressed. He looks the same as he always does, he thinks, only with a fancier covering. There’s no helping it at this point though, so he takes himself off to Hunk’s room to fret while he waits. 

“I have literally no idea why you’re nervous,” Hunk observes, adjusting his own mustard-colored robes in the mirror. They’re a little old-fashioned, but Hunk pulls them off well, abandoning his usual yellow headband in favor of slicking his hair back in a way that makes him look years older, if still his affable self. “Keith is so into you.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says, “that’s what makes me nervous.” He exhales hard, looking down at his hands. “I really like him, Hunk,” he says finally, and Hunk leaves off adjusting his tie to come settle next to Shiro on the bed and wrap a large arm around him. 

“Hey, Shiro,” Hunk says, pulling him in for a strong hug, “listen, don’t worry. This is the best part!” He pushes Shiro back and takes him by the shoulders, beaming at him. He looks like a particularly handsome sunflower, and Shiro can’t help but feel better under the force of Hunk’s confidence. “You’re just starting a new thing with someone you care a lot about, who cares a lot about you. Who knows where it will go, but- this part? Tonight?” Hunk claps him on the back and stands back up, adjusting his robes one last time before pulling Shiro to his feet. “This is gonna be great.”

\--

They hadn’t arranged a place to meet, so Shiro doesn’t see him at first, scanning the room anxiously for the head of dark hair he knows so well already, but the room is full of milling wizards and witches in their finery, and not a single Keith to be found. 

It’s fine, Shiro tells himself, probably Keith is just running a little late. He mingles, says hi to his Quidditch teammates. Most of the crowd is assembled, but the music hasn’t yet begun, there’s still time for him to appear. Shiro angles his way through the crowd toward the doors, trying to keep an eye out, but with a sudden clap of the headmaster’s hands, the sea of students parts and the floor clears for the first dance. Shiro is pulled along with the crowd, pushed up so he’s nearly to the wall and can’t see the doors as the Head Boy and Head Girl take the floor with their dates. The music starts with a flourish, and the couples are off, the Head Boy resplendent in his dress robes while the three girls are stunning in their respective evening gowns. 

“Hey,” comes a quiet voice at his elbow, and Shiro starts in surprise as a hand winds its way into his own. “Sorry I’m late.”

“It’s fine,” Shiro says, turning, and opens his mouth to say more, but finds himself utterly speechless at the sight of the boy in front of him. Keith has forgone the more traditional Hogwarts dress robes in favor of what must have been his Durmstrang uniform, heavy, austere, and of a rich, deep crimson. There’s a furred cape across his shoulders and his black hair is pulled into a low ponytail, a few wisps escaping to curve around the edge of his jaw. The effect is stunning, and Shiro has to force himself to close his mouth before he starts to catch flies.

Keith pulls at the edge of his sleeve, and looks cautiously up at Shiro. “I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to wear this, but it’s the nicest thing I have.”

“You look wonderful,” Shiro tells him honestly, and Keith ducks his head in embarrassment, twining his fingers into Shiro’s own. 

“So do you,” Keith answers softly, letting his gaze travel over Shiro, and Shiro can feel his cheeks pink with pleasure. The music must have stopped, because the audience bursts into applause, and Keith drops his grip to applaud with everyone else, but his eyes never leave Shiro’s face. 

The band strikes up the second number, and Keith holds out his hand, a smile curving at the edges of his mouth. 

“ _ M'accorderez-vous cette danse? _ ” he asks in perfectly accented French, a wicked gleam twinkling in his eye, and  _ oh _ , Shiro thinks, he is in  _ so  _ much trouble. He takes Keith’s hand without a second thought, and lets himself be pulled onto the floor.

\--

The candles overhead are guttering out as the last number plays, the floor having mostly emptied several numbers ago as the younger students fall prey to fatigue and the older students slip off to find hidden corners or take strolls around the grounds. The stars still glimmer above them, though, as Shiro cradles Keith in his arms, moving slowly foot to foot in a gentle two-step. 

Hunk’s words echo in his mind as Keith tucks his head into Shiro’s neck like it belongs there, and Shiro presses an unthinking kiss to the crown of Keith’s head as they sway. 

“Shiro,” Keith mumbles into his shoulder, and Shiro isn’t sure if it’s fatigue or reticence coloring his voice. 

“Yeah?” Shiro says softly, unwilling to break the spell that’s fallen over the entire hall. There’s a gentle breeze blowing from the open door, air moving through the room to ruffle hair and dresses just lightly as the crowd abates. 

“Thank you,” Keith says, pulling back to catch Shiro’s eye. His face is the most open Shiro thinks he’s ever seen it, and his heart jumps in his chest at the sight. “Just…” he trails off, “thank you. For everything. For...being you. For being my friend.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” Shiro answers, raising a hand to cup Keith’s cheek, watching with his heart in his throat as Keith’s eyes flutter shut at the touch. “I couldn’t be more grateful to have you in my life.”

Keith’s eyes open again, and the expression on his face says more than words ever could, a look of joy and anxiety twisted into something that closely resembles hope.

Shiro responds the only way he knows how, using the arm he has wrapped around Keith’s back to pull him up close as he runs his thumb across Keith’s cheek. 

“May I?” he whispers, and at Keith’s careful nod, he leans in, and seals their mouths together in a kiss.

The music fades, the lights dim, all of the world melts away, and this, Shiro thinks, this is the beginning of something wonderful.


End file.
